Part 2: Bank On It

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If I were a normal 28 year old woman I would meet guys the normal way---- you know on Tinder or Bumble or some kinda dating app like that. I might even actually put on a freakum dress and go out on a Friday night to some lounge and smoke hookah (that I'm sure 20 years from now, some research article will conclude is "bad for my health"). A guy would see me from across the lounge as I seductively puff on bubble gum flavored vapor and as Jodeci plays right on cue in the background, he'd float over in the midst of a crowded room with an open shirt flapping in the wind (fan wind included). COME AND TALK TO ME, I REALLY WANNA MEET YOU...............................(artificial wind reveals one peck) CAN I TALK TO YOU? I REALLY WANNA KNOW YOU (peck two revealed).
Yep, it would happen just like that. Effortlessly on my part.

But ummmmm, it doesn't.

See I don't do the whole dating app thing. Well except for when I'm bored and my sister leaves her phone around me (*insert Baby hand rub). Then I have a field day and swipe left and right like nobody's business lol. And also, I don't do clubs...Or lounges... Or bars. Or anywhere that resembles said establishment. Nah, not my scene. But clearly the bank is my scene. Oh Lawd. He's here. The guy I been thinking about for a week straight. I still smell his Panty Droppin cologne from the last time and here he is to give me one more whiff. "Breathe, Ken, Breathe". That's what I keep telling myself. "If you don't you'll pass out. And on top of that, you'll miss out on all that Panty Droppin cologne goodness".... (TRAGIC)

So I breathe. About 4 times in and 5 times out (stop: don't even ask me how that's possible). Then I do the next logical thing that comes to my mind. I fluff my bomb ass twistout (Thank God it turned out just like the Youtube tutorial today) and get out of the bank teller line.

This is the part of the story where the little voice in my ear (in the voice of either an alien, my future self from the year 2050, or a great great ancestor) tells me "Abort! Abort! Mission Terrible". But no voice in my ear comes so I continue on with Mission: WTFAMIDOING. I got out of line to just get right back in line. Here's my logic......

First thought: I need to get closer to him. There are currently 4 ppl in line between us so yes, continue with this mission.

Second thought: Contrary to what my younger sister thinks, no I do not currently have eyes in the back of my head and goddamnit I need to keep my eyes on him. Hence, continue with mission.

These two thoughts were good enough to precede until this little ol' lady with a cane in one hand and a social security check in the other tries to get in line after him first. BIIIIIHHHHHHHHH. Not today, granny. I hurry and grab a deposit slip and slide in front of ol' Ester (Sucka!). I don't even need a deposit slip but I had to aaaccttt like I needed one to have a reason to get out of line. In reality, the only reason I am in the bank today is to cash this $100 check my mom always writes me on Dec 1st as a Christmas gift so I can in turn get her a nice expensive Christmas gift by the 25th. FML.

Jiffy cornbread. Hot jiffy cornbread. That's what if feels like to be so close to him. It feels like you're opening the oven for the first time to pull out the cornbread and you feel that warmth and smell that smell. I swear its just like that. They should put this nigga on the cover of the box. PAY UP, JIFFY!
At this point I'm like shoulder to shoulder to him. Well, more like back to front. His back. My front. PANTY DROPPA cologne. Yassssssssssss. Yassssssssssss. As I'm sniffing behind his ear, I guess he senses me. "Hey, excuse me can I help you?" he says. Yeah you can help me on top of one of these counters and fu---------.  Um yes, do you have a pen I can borrow? That's what you come up with, Ken? Ugh.

He agrees, reaches into his pocket for a pen, and hands it to me. "Thanks", I say. It's a retractable gel pen! Damn, the man even has great taste in pens. Pen in hand, deposit slip in hand, and old lady given me the evil eye from behind. Wait, what now? I really don't have any money to deposit. I didn't plan this out really well. Hmmmmm. So, woman's intuition kicks in. Or at least I think it's intuition. Maybe its just that 4 day old slice of pepperoni pizza I ate for breakfast this morning kicking it, instead. Anyways, I do what Kendrah does best. I do something utterly Kendrah-ish. I scribble my name and number on the back of the deposit slip and politely hand Mr. Panty Droppa cologne wearer back his pen along with the deposit slip folded in half. "The "h" is silent", I whisper, as I wink and walk away.
*Cues "Waiting to Exhale" scene: Oh God. I hope he's not watching me walk way (Alright. He's watching)

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